fiction writing – Page 21 – three good words

November 17, 2014May 16, 2020

reconstruction, 2

Ji’an rushed down the glass halls of the VEN Centre [1] and was just in time to catch one of the Commuters into the Main City. Leaning back into one of the comfortable white armchairs, she tried not to fidget. She was late. And she hated being late, especially to these appointments. The Commuter glided through the transparent transport tubes in silence, the City rushing by, glass and lights flashing through the glass ceiling. A caterer offered her a cup of arica, which Ji’an took gladly.

The Commuter was fairly full, most of the men and women Ji’an saw were from the VEN Centre, their crisp black suits and skirts always stuck out. Crossing her legs, Ji’an suppressed the urge to remove her shoes. At the end of a long day, the heels started to get uncomfortable, but as a member of a VBA, [2] she couldn’t afford indecencies in public, not even the slightest. During her training she hadn’t cared, ignoring the surprised looks, but now she had to keep form. She crossed her legs instead.

Ji’an drank from her arica and sighed. Other Commuters flashed by, men and women in black suits and skirts entered and left at the blue-lit stations. It was half an hour from the VEN Centre to the Main City, half an hour Ji’an took to lay down the busyness of the day. The Commuter finally stopped smoothly at Cartin Place, the cabin was almost empty now, only a small group of trainees sat in the back talking in low voices.

Rushing through the blue-lit station, Ji’an checked her timer. Five past already! She hurried to the glass elevators and watched the city grow smaller as she rose in a swish to the seventh floor of the building. It was already twenty seven floors above the ever-busy JDCs.[3] Up in Cartin Place, the air was peaceful. The sun was setting and bathed the entire City in warm light. They said there had been many parks before the Reconstruction, large patches of communal greens far larger than any House Garden. Ji’an couldn’t imagine it. To her the City was always glass and silver, flashing with windows.

The elevator came to a silent stop and the doors opened to a small foyer. A stylized crane graced the marble floor in shining black and gold tiles. It was spread out in front of the milk-glass sliding doors that opened the moment Ji’an walked across the polished floor. The entrance had its usual luxurious simplicity, whites and greys accentuated with the bright colours of flowers from the Low Don in enormous vases. The usual faint smell of incense lay in the air, and the young woman at the check-in desk nodded when Ji’an walked up to her.

‘Hello Sila,’ Ji’an said.
‘Ms Taiyge,’ Sila nodded, scanning through her monitoring screen with a flick of her hand.
‘I have an appointment. I know I’m late.’
‘She’s already waiting,’ Sila said, taking the card Ji’an handed her. ‘Will you be staying?’
‘Only the usual,’ Ji’an answered. Sila nodded and slid the card into the respective slot.

Ji’an thanked Sila as she handed her her jacket and her new Lexen, a perfect piece of yula leather. They would be kept in one of the private lockers until she returned. Turning, Ji’an checked herself in the mirrored wall, all was well. She walked to the office on the far side of the left corridor. There were vases of flowers in intervals, and the soft hum of faraway music. Ji’an stood out in her all-black outfit, her glossy heels clicking loudly on the marble, reminding her of the VEN Centre and all the business there. The milk-glass doors to the office opened noiselessly and Ji’an stepped in to the white space.

‘My apologies, Mistress Koun,’ she said immediately. ‘I had a meeting I couldn’t get out of. I’m not too late, I hope?’
‘No,’ was the calm reply.

Mistress Koun, dressed in her usual flowing dark robes, stood at her aquarium feeding her rare and poisonous fish, small and flat and very beautiful with delicate gossamer fins. Their watery world was the only colourful thing in the entire office. The windows behind the glass desk overlooked the sparkling City, awash in sunset colours.

‘Have a seat, please,’ Mistress Koun said in her calm voice, returning the fish-food into the long array of milk-glass jars next to the aquarium. None of them were labelled. Ji’an always wanted to ask how the Mistress knew which one to choose.

Mistress Koun walked across the room, looking as if she were gliding over the white carpet to the opposite side of the wide glass desk. She was tall and thin, and her face reminded Ji’an of the mysterious dark birds that sometimes flew around the VEN Centre. There was something almost too serene about the Mistress, even as she sat down in her spacious armchair and fixed Ji’an with her calm, grey eyes. They said Mistress Koun was from one of the Haldan Moons, but who knew. She was striking, that was certain.

‘I tried to get out as soon as I could, Mistress Koun, but the meeting was rather important,’ Ji’an tried to explain, but the Mistress waved her hand as if it didn’t matter why she was late. She was late, that was a fact that could not be changed. Ji’an fell silent and tried to look as calm in her seat as the Mistress.

‘Well,’ Mistress Koun said, and tapped the desk’s surface. The hologram screen appeared, showing the lists both to Ji’an and the Mistress.

‘Since your request was a little unexpected,’ the Mistress said, scanning through the names, faces flickering past the screen in flashes, ‘choices were limited.’ space 3

Ji’an nodded, she had expected this. It made the fact that she was late a little worse. She hated being late to these appointments. Mistress Koun had a way of ignoring Ji’an’s discomfort that made it all the more clear that she didn’t approve of the delay.

‘Yes, I know,’ Ji’an said. ‘I received the invitation only yesterday. Someone else should have gone but then – anyway, I was told only yesterday.’

‘That is why I would advise you to keep a permanent residence, Ms Taiyge,’ Mistress Koun said, eyeing Ji’an through the hologram screen.

Ji’an dropped her gaze. She couldn’t admit that she couldn’t afford permanent residence yet. She had just been promoted. It was not appropriate to make such expenses now, but it would have taken too long to explain that.

‘Well, fortunately, I did find something suitable,’ Mistress Koun said.

Ji’an smiled with relief. Mistress Koun was famed for never letting her clients down, even if they weren’t one of the illustrious patrons of the House.

‘You’re 4.5, am I right?’ Mistress Koun asked.
‘Yes.’
‘No specifications?’
‘Not too young please.’

Mistress Koun raised a graceful eyebrow but nodded.

‘Well then, I have just the right one for you. Come with me.’

The older woman tapped the glass table’s surface and the hologram disappeared. She rose in a soft rustle of expensive cloth, Ji’an got to her feet and followed her. The milk-glass doors glided open to the Main House a moment later. The smell of incense was stronger here, and her tread was mute on the thick white carpet, despite her heels. They walked across the Garden Path, crossing the spacious House Garden in a high arch of glass. As always, Ji’an would have liked to stop and look down, but that was not done. There were House Rules and it was a given that one didn’t break them.

They reached the end of the Garden Path that opened to small foyer. The second milk-glass doors slid open, and Ji’an could already hear the murmur of the residents in the main rooms, distant and deep like quiet nights at the coast. It was every Citizen’s dream to once cross the forbidden threshold and see how it really was behind those doors, but the djan, the House Guards, only let the majar and Mistress through. The djan stood motionless on either side, their hands clasped behind their back, their long white robes and expressionless faces showing they would tolerate no disobedience. It was said that they would kill if it was necessary, and that no Magistrate would put them under the law for it. Ji’an always felt that terminating an intruder’s life was going a bit far, but then again this way privacy was guaranteed.

They had hardly reached the open hall when a tall, well-built man of at least forty approached them, dressed in simple white robes and the characteristic red belt of the majar. There was a short exchange between him and the Mistress. Then the majar nodded and walked past the House Guards into the depths of the forbidden premises. Ji’an followed Mistress Koun into one of the chambers.

It was like all others, a spotlessly clean, white room, with a high ceiling and broad windows overlooking the Main City. The gliders flew along the skyways crisscrossing the darkening sky and the Commuters raced like caterpillars of light through the tubes. Inside the room, there were the usual recliners. Round, wide and made of a soft material she never could name, they reached a little higher than Ji’an’s knees. Two people fit easily on them and there was one on each side of the room.

The sun was setting in bright colours, the first reds and oranges were already turning the white room into hues of rose and pink. The Mistress nodded ‘Ms Taiyge’ and left, the sliding door closing quietly. Ji’an stepped to the wide windows and watched the gliders and Commuters as the sun set. The City was a maze of skylines and skyways reaching far into the darkening blue, showing its overwhelming scale. It was the largest civic settlement this side of the Low Don and was still expanding. One day it would fill out the whole Shelf and maybe reach down to the Valleys.

Not long after the Mistress glided out of the room, there was the three-knock signal at the door, but Ji’an didn’t turn. She heard the door slide open and knew without seeing that the majar came in followed by one of the residents. There was another silky slide of doors, which meant that the majar had left the room. Ji’an was still at the broad windows overlooking the City with its glass towers and domes. It was said that ten million people lived in its expanse, and seeing all the windows glitter in the setting sun, gliders passing up high, Commuters halting and racing on, Ji’an believed it. She had always wanted to see the entirety of the City, maybe even go into those parts that were considered dangerous, apparently full of relics of that dark time before the Reconstruction. There was talk of ghosts and strange creatures that lived and fed in those dark spaces. Ji’an had seen some holographs of what was said to live down there, some were disgusting. Well, maybe one day she’d book a day-pass and take a guide down, but it would be a while until she could afford to ask for such freedoms.

Ji’an turned right then, the resident stood in the middle of the room, waiting. He was about her age, which was a relief, she never liked the young ones, she always felt inadequately responsible for them. He had the usual black ger on, loose Low Don cotton that reached to his knees, showing off well-shaped calves. His build was perfect, but that was to be expected, Mistress Koun only took the best. His hair was very dark, which was a surprise. Usually Mistress Koun gave her fair-haired ones. Then again, she had sent the request rather late. Ji’an stepped away from the window. She didn’t have all day after all, and the House’s fees were high.

* * *

[1] Vidan Eldin Noli Centre, named after Vidan Eldin Noli, one of the first to open up the trade routes after the Reconstruction
[2] Van Benem Associates, one of the various Providers, i.e. trading conglomerates in the VEN Centre
[3] Joint Development Centres, one of the many places of commerce and leisure in the Main City

November 16, 2014May 16, 2020

reconstruction, 1

I started this as a Merci-For-Reading to all you lovely people. Then I looked out of the window. Behold, a November day in all its grey glory. Which brought me to this dark little piece. So here it is, for you, my dearest wordlovers, and your likes, re-posts and comments that I truly cherish. Oh, and in case you’re wondering: Yes, the Philae on the Comet might have a little bit to do with this particular genre twist… Enjoy :) j.d.

They said they were like bright lights. It looked beautiful, like slow fireworks at daylight, falling from the sky. Then the first alarms went off, but by the time anyone knew what had happened it was too late.

Afterwards they said someone had tampered with the force fields and sent an asteroid belt the wrong way. They could just stop the whole thing from coming down, but a few escaped. Those were the bright lights in the sky, like comets you could touch.

A whole mountain range disappeared, it had one of the highest peaks known. From one second to the next it was gone. Whole coastlines and cities were no more. The oceans rose, and more land was swallowed. Many were able to escape to the moon bases, but many others weren’t so fortunate.

Then came the rains and snows, hail storms that would last for weeks. Volcanoes erupted and new land rose, but it was too young. The rains never stopped long enough and the famine lasted for years. The War made it worse. You could see the bombs in the sky, the clouds of fighters shooting each other down. Finally, the weather started to change and more land could be tilled again. People started coming back. That’s when the Reconstruction began.

* * *

Records of Reconstruction

Urbana Regulatio Historia
Section XIV § 27

Consortia in Residencia

1.1

Residents are of either persuasion. According to Section III URH, their form and permanence must be in strict accordance to Federation Regulation 24-10 of Humanoid Development.

1.2

Residents are not Citizens. According to Section IV URH, they must not be recruited from the body of Citizens. The ordination must remain highly controlled, following Federation Regulation 36-17: 1.1 to 1.27. Freedom of movement and of person, according to Section V URH, may be allowed in 1) a House Domain and in 2) a Citizen’s Private Quarters (see § 25). Freedom of movement is to be guaranteed in all quarters of the Federation, according to Federation Regulation 5-15.

1.3

A Resident’s duty is to relieve the bodily needs of the respective Citizen. To one Citizen there shall be one resident. In case of a breach of contract according to Section X URH, the consortia in residencia may be legally dissolved.

1.4

The legal Houses of the Federation are the legal guardians of the resident, until the resident acquires a legal consortia in residencia. In case of dissolvement by breach of contract, according to Section X URH, the resident may return to their previous legal guardian.

1.5

A Citizen of any persuasion is to have a permanent resident and a consort. According to Section IX URH, this must be accomplished by their thirtieth year. The respective resident is to be asserted from a House Domain (see § 26).

1.6

It is understood that Citizens and residents be allowed a certain period in time to accustom to each other. This time may not exceed one (1) year. Consorts are to be granted the equal amount of time for adjustment. It is understood that after the maximum of three (3) years a full household is to be established once a consortia in residencia (see § 26) is established.

1.8

Both Consorts are to have permanent residents. Their living quarters must coincide with those of the Consorts. According to Section XII URH; the rights and freedoms of each Consort are not to be infringed by the consortia in residencia.

* * *

The Mistress walked down the lines, lifting her finger every time she wanted to inspect one of them. The latest batch was lined in an avenue, naked and chained of course. They were from the Islands and wilder than the usual ones, so unruly they had to be kept on their knees. Those the Mistress thought worth her while were prodded and often yanked to their feet. At this stage they were still savage, but once sold, it was no longer Gordec’s problem. He was taking a risk with this batch, but someone had tipped him off that the Houses were looking for fresher meat, and where else to find it than on the Islands. It had taken weeks to capture this batch and some of his men were killed, but it was worth it. By the look of it the Mistress was impressed.

He watched the Mistress glide down the aisle, followed closely by her secretary, holding onto a ledger and scribbling down whatever the Mistress said in that mysterious language of theirs. The Mistress was impressive in her flowing dark robes. She was not pretty, at least Gordec wouldn’t bed her for any price, too thin, too old, too much of the City on her. He liked them simple, with enough meat on their ribs to hold onto when it got rough, the kind you got down in the docklands, where there were no House Rules to stop you. Just thinking about it made Gordec lick his lips. He had one particular one he went to, a filthy thing that cost him a pretty penny, but Gordec didn’t mind, he got his money’s worth out of her each time.

He would have to wait though until he could pay her another visit, he first had to make sure this deal went through. Never mind her elegance, this particular Mistress was business, and by the look of it she was really pleased with his fare and not just looking it. She raised her finger again, and Gordec prodded, but the kral wouldn’t move. He prodded harder and the kral still stayed on its knees, never mind the sparks the electric made. They were tough these Island kral, tougher than the mainland ones, maybe the reason why the better Houses were looking for them. The clients probably needed some variation.

Finally Gordec had to make the sign. His guards came and dragged the kral to its feet. One thing had to be said about kral, they had perfect proportions. Rumours had it they had made a pact with demons to make them perfect, but who knew. This one here was the strong type and even tried to fight but the Mistress was quick. In a flash she had a hand around the kral’s member, an impressive thing even when limp and the kral went still. Gordec had to grin, this particular Mistress always surprised him. The Mistress weighed the kral’s strength in her pale hands, nodding her head. By the look of it, the kral was ready to kill her if it ever got the chance, but with the Mistress’ holding its worth, even this one wouldn’t budge.

‘He’s perfect,’ the Mistress said, ‘I’ll take him as a well.’

She said something more to her secretary that Gordec didn’t catch and then let the kral go. It was the Mistress’ luck that the men were still there. In a flash, the kral moved to attack her, nearly knocking the guard’s over, but the men reacted quickly. In seconds the kral was on the floor and silent.

‘Are you really sure about that one?’ Gordec asked the Mistress. She nodded, watching the kral bleeding on the ground.
‘With the right training he’ll be excellent,’ the Mistress said, looking satisfied.
‘It tried to attack you, Mistress.’

Gordec usually didn’t try and persuade his clients from a deal, but he’d seen that look in a kral before and it always meant trouble. Real trouble. He wasn’t sure if the Mistress knew it, these Island kral weren’t like mainland one’s. He tried to explain it but all the Mistress said was ‘I like a little spirit.’ Gordec shrugged, it was none of his business anyway.

She bought a total of five that day, all of them Island kral and she hardly haggled the price. Gordec was to send them to the usual place in the Low Don. It was said that after six weeks there, even the wildest kral followed any Mistress. Gordec always wondered what they did to them there, but it wasn’t for him to ask. He got a perfect price for the five, and finally had that wild one off his hands which was more than he had bargained for that night.

* * *

Needle-point heels, glossy, black. A black pencil skirt, a white blouse, stretched tight over pert breasts, a slim black belt. A slim-fitting black jacket matching the skirt. Her hair held back in a strict bun, a pair of delicate black-rimmed glasses. Full lips, flawless caramel skin, striking dark eyes tapering to a clear curve. This is Ji’an in full regulation uniform, a Citizen.

As long as Ji’an could remember, life in the City was structured to keep the Peace. The rules and laws minutely regulated daily life, making Commuters absolutely punctual, and there was a precise amount of hours that you were allowed to stay in the offices. If you exceeded these, the doors locked to your ID and you could no longer return to your workstation. The Federation was rigorous in keeping its Citizens healthy, rested and at peace, for which Ji’an was grateful. She could not think of living any way else.

Like all other Citizens, Ji’an was raised away from her biological parents in a Home Circle. Long before the Reconstruction began, the Sages understood that blood ties were destructive to the overall peace of the society due to their strict confinement. It was no surprise then, that once the Reconstruction began, ‘families’ as they were known in those dark times were freed into Home Circles.

One day she, Ji’an Taiyge, woud fulfill the Duty too, for each Citizen had the duty of ten years to supervise a Home Circle with ten, maximum twelve children, though six were the norm. The children, who were never biologically related unless they were twins, were raised together as siblings, each equal to the other. They all knew their biological parents, of course they did, only the criminally insane were disallowed contact. Everyone knew their birth mother and birth father, the records were always updated and easily accessible, but there was little contact. There was no need really, the Home Circle was what was important. It was, Ji’an had observed, simply nice to know.

Now at twenty-five, Ji’an knew her place. She and the rest of her Home Circle had left the Low Don at the age of ten, and joined the Institute near the High Falls like everyone else. Ji’an still remembered the grand ceremony of Leave Taking. Tula and Maso, their guardians, had cried tears, for now it would only be them again, their ten years of guardianship were over. There had been many hugs and many kisses, everyone was crying, and Ji’an had wondered how it must have been, back in the violent days, when the people you left also shared the blood in your veins. She could only imagine how difficult it must have been if they all already cried when saying goodbye to Tula and Maso, Olen even running back to hug them once more. In that, blood ties must have made Leave Taking torturous. It was right then, what the Sages decided. One should not get too attached, it clouded the mind.

Once at the Institute they learned the Laws of the Federation, and by their twentieth year they were finally of age and ready to actively partake in the necessary endeavours to further the Peace. Each of Ji’an’s Home Circle had chosen their profession according to their skills, all seven of them had talents the Federation needed, Tula and Maso had done well. Now they all played a valuable part in sustaining the peace and prosperity the Federation created after the Reconstruction. It was a stability needed to help those parts still torn and deranged by the darkness of the War, to heal, recuperate and join the Federation’s measures of Peace.

Ji’an had no doubt about this. It was a fact of her life, and she rejoiced in it. She knew of the immense value of the Peace, the food, clean air and water, the simple stability she was able to enjoy after so many, too many decades of disaster. She had seen the Fleet Communications, she had watched the DeNost Journal, and there was always, always the Siege of the Seven Stars and all its horrors… Even now, Ji’an could shudder at the mere thought. So now, of age and firmly in her place, Ji’an Taiyge knew what she was grateful for.

November 12, 2014November 24, 2014

saving grace, 6

Port Augustine
1796, The Spanish Main

It was one of those days when the heat was so hot nothing could be done but either to sleep or swim. Ariane, Katie, Eliza and Dessie had joined forces and gone to the waterfall. It was hidden in the green, but if you knew which path to take it took only five minutes from the Freeman farm to reach it. Now they were there, jumping happily into the cool, perfectly certain of being unwatched since most people in Port Augustine thought the place bewitched and filled with ghosts and old spirits of the dead.

As young girls the four had dared each other to go to the waterfall, and touch the waterfall’s lagoon-like pool with their toes. It was the ultimate sign of bravery, until one day, Dessie pushed Katie in and in their terror all four fell into the water and found that there were no ghouls in the deep. The flashes that wavered were in fact coins of little worth, some corrugated but most still showing their Spanish sign. By the time they stopped collecting they had almost five hundred of these small copper coins, and there were still many more left. After Ariane found the gumption to show one to Father Claireborne, his surprise made him talkative, and so she found out that long before Port Augustine had become English, the Spanish had settled there and obviously thought the pool a type of wishing well. spanish gold_rare Since most of the Spanish were Catholic, and now most of Port Augustine was none the like, this wishing was attributed to ‘papist superstitions’ and so the myth of ghosts and ghouls began.

Since then the four had free licence to go and swim there, and sometimes other children would dare and join until their parents found out and forbid them to go, but that did not matter. Katie, Dessie, Eliza and Ariane were all delighted to have the water to themselves, since that meant they could strip themselves of their dresses and jump naked into the refreshing cool, surrounded by cascades of greenery. The best place to jump from was the waterfall, which would splash against their backs before they dove in deep, deep enough to snatch another copper flashing on the pebbled ground. The water was very clear, all could see to the ground without squinting, and if one could hold one’s breath long enough, even a child could dive down like a fish.

It was much the same this day, Ariane and Katie took to diving, while Eliza and Dessie splashed and swam about, all four laughing at and with each other, playing their old game of fetch-the-coin, which meant throwing a copper into the water and then doing one’s best to retrieve it before it landed on the ground below. Ariane did just this, saw the copper drop in a low arch into the deep, then plunged into the water like a knife, kicking and swimming underwater until she grabbed the coin, turned and propelled herself upwards with one powerful kick of muscle to the surface, holding the copper triumphantly in her fist. This continued for some time, the laughter and the young happy talk, all four glad and grateful to have a reason to postpone their duties at home.

It started slowly. Very slowly, like wind brushing over her skin, first not even a breath, then a gust, then a right breeze, faint but still very tangible. And finally it was there, the acutest sensation of being watched. Ariane had just climbed onto a boulder again to dive into the water. She turned her head and looked into the surrounding green as if called. At first she only saw. After realising what it was that she saw, her heart skipped several beats. Then it began racing. Ariane could feel the thud in her chest, the thundering in her ear. Her first impulse was to jump down and snatch her dress, but it was quickly quelled by a second, more prudent thought. If she ran to the dresses without a warning, the others would know something was wrong. So Ariane climbed down again, her heart beating against her ribs. She saw her friends swim and dive, and announced, a little meekly, that she was leaving.

She walked as steadily as she could to the pile of dresses after she spoke the words. She quickly found her dress and pulled it on, tying the bands clumsily. Her hands were not steady. During all this, Ariane was aware of being followed by a silent unrelenting gaze, almost as if hands were touching her, invisible and hardly tangible but still very there. She finally tied everything in place and put on her slippers. Eliza was the first to understand that she really did mean to leave. Eliza, whose Mistress was a strict but fair woman, Eliza looked genuinely disappointed, even angry that Ariane would break up the fun so soon. ‘Come on, Ria! Not now!’ she called, and Katie and Dessie quickly realised what was happening. Both asked her to stay a little longer, they still had time yet. Ariane shook her head. She explained she had promised to help with tea, which was no lie. ‘I don’t want to run back to be in time. I’ll just get sticky again.’ Katie asked if she would be all right going alone, otherwise she would come with her, but Ariane knew Katie wanted to stay as long as possible in the water, so she shook her head. She anyway could not have another with her. By some force that was not her own, Ariane knew that she would have to be solitary on her return. caribbean jungle 2

Goodbyes were said, Dessie splashing Ariane’s feet with water and all three laughing at Ariane’s feigned annoyance, wishing her a good day and greetings to her mother and Father Claireborne, which Ariane promised to give. She turned then, her heart racing painfully now. She turned and walked along the hidden trail towards the Freeman farm, five minutes that she would be to herself, five minutes during which, Ariane was sure, something decisive would happen.

After the first fifty steps, Ariane started to look about herself. She had somehow expected that something would happen the moment she stepped along the trail. But all was silent, except for the usual rustle and drip of the green about her, tall, broad leaves heavy with sunlight, and all else over grown and obscure within. She continued, holding onto the small gold chain around her neck, a gift from Father Claireborne for her eighteenth birthday that was just a week past. It had a small golden cross pendant, beautifully delicate, and to Ariane very precious. She wore it night and day, and held it whenever she prayed. Just as now. She could think of nothing but the Lord’s Prayer and repeated it over and over, looking about herself, stopping suddenly, when she heard something loud crash beside her.

Her heart was almost in her throat, her ears full of the racing beat. She waited, standing solitary in her slippers and muslin dress, her hair still pearling with water, a black corona about her head, but nothing happened. Ariane walked on, starting with Our Father, which art in Heaven. He stepped out just then, right before her. Ariane did not shout nor scream. She simply stopped as she was, clutching the cross of her chain tighter.

The first thing she noticed was that he was clean. His shirt was white and his coat a smooth black cloth. His breeches were dark, and there were boots, real, leather boots, well-worn, yes, but definitely of some quality. The hair was shorter and starkest black. His eyes no longer looked faded but were as green as the foliage overpowering all life about her. She could also see the face. If it would have been part of one of those icy gentlemen in the main port, men who were tied up with scarves and bright waistcoats and whose boots shone a mile off, it would not have looked out of place.

They stood like that, face to face, for long seconds. All other sounds save Ariane’s heartbeat and breathing vanished. She watched as she was being watched for a long minute. A cleanly shaven face, features not only even, but the kind Miss Carla from the taylor’s would have approved of. He was younger than she thought, not even thirty by the look of it, and by his build and stance genuinely in good health. And this was to be the person who terrorised the coasts with his ships and men. There was gold at his left ear, a ring puncturing his earlobe, and she saw something reach up past the collar of his open cotton shirt. It looked black, painted. She had seen such things on those sailors that came to Port Augustine. It was said it hurt immensely to make them. Ariane could not think why one would do that to oneself, but the man before her did not look like someone who would shy from pain.

He did not look like anything Ariane knew, now that he was clean and looked human. He was neither like an officer, nor in fact like those icy gentlemen in the bright waistcoats in the main port; nor like the sailors down at the pier, nor like the salesmen and townspeople who kept to themselves so well. He looked like something utterly foreign, even outwordly, something that could not be from what she knew. Ariane stood as she was with a heartbeat that filled her whole body. She did not know what to think. Why would he be here, now, at this place and hour? Why stand across of her and stare at her as if she were something in a shop window he wanted to purchase, yet did not have the means? Ariane had seen that look on many children when standing before the baker’s window, staring at the boiled sweets set on display. It was the same look the man had, and Ariane felt how it made goose bumps spread across her skin.

The man moved, Ariane jumped. She felt a hand on her wrist, the same powerful grip and saw how he lifted it, prying the clenched fingers open. He lifted his other hand and she saw something escape the raised fist, the fingers loosen more and something bright and flashing drop out, first a chain, reminiscent of her own, only of a far purer, deeper gold, dropping in all its splendid length into her palm, held open by his hand. Finally a pendant followed, and a stone, the greenest and largest cut stone Ariane had ever seen, encased in gold. It fell heavily into her palm, which was closed by the large hand. And then he let her go. There was silence. He smiled, a quick, mischievous flash of a smile, darkly amused. Then, in a breath, he was gone.

Ariane did not know all was over and done until the rustle of greenery ebbed to silence. She turned, but all was a wall of green before her, and the trail was empty except herself. For a moment she just stood and felt her heart beat on. Then, step by step, hesitantly and full of bewilderment, Ariane walked on. She walked in silence, her right hand clutching the cross, her left clutching the green stone, the gold chain wound up like a snake inside her palm. She walked and walked, faster and faster until she was almost running, and then reminded herself to be calm and not show any agitation, for if anyone saw her like this, there would be questions. Composing herself just before she reached the fork in the trail to the Freeman’s farm, Ariane slipped the heavy chain into the sole pocket of her dress, but could not stop from clutching her cross until she reached home, doing her best to walk into the kitchen as steadily as possible – her mother was already waiting impatiently, and without a glance ordered her to cut up the onions, it was getting late.

It was such a wrenching return to normalcy, that at first, Ariane simply stood and stared at her mother. ‘What are you waiting for, Ariane, Mr Turlington’s coming for tea, you know that,’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned at her, which was enough to return Ariane to her actual life. Officer Turlington. Officer Turlington who spent the last year looking and looking, but he found nothing. Though he was surprised that the coasts near Port Augustine were so quiet. All other ports and shores were repeatedly beleagured by attacks, but at least twenty sea miles around Port Augustine, all was quiet. Officer Turlington spent almost every visit to Father Claireborne puzzling over this. He was getting letters from other officers, even a Commodore, requesting to explain how he, Lt. Hayworth Turlington, had managed to create and sustain such peace. Now, Ariane thought she knew how, but how tell the officer? It was not even to be thought of.

‘Zut alors, Ariane! Stop idling! I need those onions for the skillet!’ Ariane returned to her own life, tied the apron about herself, and took up the cutting knife, though even as she stood at the cutting table and wiped and sniffed the tears away, she couldn’t forget the heaviness in her pocket, and the sharp edge of the pendant that continuously hit her thigh.

November 7, 2014November 24, 2014

saving grace, 5

Ariane found Father Claireborne seated in the kitchen with a glass and a pitcher of cool water, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. John was right, humid as it was getting now, rain would pour soon, hopefully very soon. All tracks would run cold then. Ariane still felt that would be a good thing. Sitting down across of the Father, she asked all the same.

‘Father?’

‘Yes, Ariane, is something the matter?’ he asked, drinking more water.

‘When I came back from the market with Katie just now, we met Officer Turlington.’

‘Mr. Turlington?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked behind her. ‘What was he doing on the Hunting Trail?’

‘He was with a search party,’ Ariane said, still looking at the Father who now listened with interest. ‘He said that there is a convict on the loose, and that he is dangerous.’

‘And you think he has come here?’ Father Turlington asked, frowning.

‘What?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now sitting down next to her daughter. ‘Would such a man dare?’

‘Those who once defy the laws of man rarely find self-restraint when necessitated to break them again.’

‘What do you mean, Father?’ Ariane asked, suddenly feeling she had betrayed more than she wanted. She could already see that feral body hanging from the gallows, grunting and growling until it was still.

‘I have a hard time believing our mischievous neighbours would go so far as to break into this house, especially if they know it so well,’ Father Claireborne said, smiling a little. ‘It made little sense to me, you see, why they should break the window. Theft of pastries and boiled sweets, I can understand, but this now seemed too crafty. If you say there is a criminal on the loose, hounded by Officer Turlington and his men, it could very well be the man found this house peaceful enough to break in and take what nourishment he needed.’

‘Are you certain, Father?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now visibly concerned.

‘I am sure he cannot stop at a market-booth for victuals,’ Father answered, drinking from his glass once more.

‘So there could be a dangerous criminal in the house and we do not know it?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned, now clearly anxious. ‘Ariane, I do not want you to leave this room, no, even leave my side until we know that he is captured.’

‘Ah, Mrs. Bellamy, I would not go that far to detain the young for a sinner’s sake,’ Father Clariborne smiled. ‘I am certain the man has already disappeared, escaped to a safer hiding place where he would not be so soon detected.’

‘But if he’s dangerous, Father,’ Mrs Bellamy said gravely. ‘I would not want my daughter wandering down the Hunting Trail with some fiend escaped from the gallows at her heel.’

‘Mrs. Bellamy, you sound quite gothic,’ Father Claireborne smiled, but it did not last long. ‘It may not be so wrong to notify the Commission, however. We could go together and report as one. They will quite likely return and search the house, and I am sure the moment the convict sees the red jackets, he will run as fast as his life is dear to him.’

In less than fifteen minutes, Father Claireborne, Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane were all three walking towards the officer’s station, the chaplain nodding benevolently at every face he knew and saw. In the station, sand-stoned and cool compared to the humid heat of the empty court before it, the report was made, and a small troop of guards dispatched to search the chaplain’s house, all seven men armed with pistols and rifles and looking very grim.

Ariane said nothing and watched, feeling she had signed the death sentence for the man-thing. It had not looked dangerous. Ferocious yes, and very obviously starved, but not something one would hang by a rope and wait till it twitched and turned to death. And yet she had to wait until the inspection was done, furthered by Officer Turlington, who by some form of communication had found out that Father Claireborne’s house was to be searched, and thus came with his dangerous dogs and rifled men. Officer Turlington had them search the house again, from the rafters to the cellars, but nothing was found, though the dogs barked as if they had seen the very devil.

An hour had passed by the time Officer Turlington emerged from the house. Half the neighbourhood had come to see, but it was all for naught. Officer Turlington looked furious, as if not finding this man was a personal insult, though he was civil to Father Claireborne as always.

‘And who is this man?’ the Father asked after Officer Turlington had given his negative report.

‘Someone we have been wanting to capture for some time. Finally, by the help of a deserter, we could secure him, but alas –’ Officer Turlington pressed his lips together and tried not to get redder than he already was.

‘A deserter you say? Is the man a soldier?’

‘Pah!’ the Officer barked bitterly. ‘He’s as much a soldier as a devil is a saint, Father.’

‘What is he then?’

‘A pirate, sir, and one of the worst these waters have seen for the past twenty years.’

‘A pirate?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned. ‘Why not say a murderer and be done with it?’

‘That is the point, Mrs. Bellamy,’ Officer Turlington said grimly, ‘as far as we know, the man has never murdered with his own hand, but his men have done much destruction in the same vein. We cannot stop them from scavenging and torching ships, but since we captured him, all these devilish enterprises have stopped at sea. It is heavenly quiet, but God forbid the man be joined with his men. Then the cobra’s head would be rejoined with the body, and the snake will bite again, slithering out of sight after poisoning half the country!’

Officer Turlington looked ready to burst with rage. Father Claireborne layed a quiet hand on his shoulder and asked him to join him in the house for some fresh cider. Father Claireborne could not affront Mrs. Bellamy with ale yet, she did not approve of drinking alcohol before sundown if it had to be drunk at all. Officer Turlington agreed and the two men proceeded, closely followed by Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane, who did not like to stay in the small court, surrounded by all those wild-looking men of the search party. Some were giving her looks she didn’t like, and so was glad to know herself on the other side of the closed house door.

Not long after, Tenny walked into the kitchen asking if it was all right now to hang the linens, there was still a good deal of sun before the weather broke. Ariane was sent out to help the washing woman, which she did in silence, listening to Tenny talk about what it meant to have a criminal in these parts, and how dangerous such men were, and now it was said it was a pirate, scavenging fiends that would burn in hell for all eternity, murderers and oath-breakers in whose presence no living soul was safe.

Ariane listened and helped spread the white sheets across the lines, thinking of how the man-thing had eaten out of her hand like a starved animal. She tried to think how that could command men to an extent that made Officer Turlington look as if he would explode. She could not see it. He was still hardly human to her, more a thing and beast than anything with reason, even though he stood upright and had the build of a grown man. He maybe had the look and the limbs, but definitely not the smell nor the articulation, she had never seen anything so dirty.

With Mrs. Bellamy’s Christian ways of cleanliness and the fact that Father Claireborne adhered to them without question, Ariane had no patience with dirt either, and could not tolerate anything that would smudge her dress or linens, which made her monthly indisposition quite a trial where a catastrophe always seemed close at hand. That she should think of such things now, but with the white sheets, wide as sails before her, billowing in the usual sea-breeze coming up from the near coast, she could only think of those bright red stains she abhorred, as they betrayed not only carelessness, but something about her Ariane could as yet not fully accept, though it was a part of her these six years. She did not know why it happened, and saw it as due punishment after the Fall, for it was Eve who ate the first fruit and thus her descendants would be constantly reminded of her trespassing, for why else would God allow such a thing to take place at such pagan times, always when the moon waxed and her mood plummeted… no, she should rather think of something else.

Right then Ariane’s eyes fell on her own dress, where she saw those stains made by the tomato juice that had spilled and sprayed onto the white skirts, which she had tried her best to clean out, but it would not do without some soap and she would not change again, her mother never liked that. They were mere shadows now, and only visible to the eye who knew they were there, but she knew, and so saw them clearly. They were further reminders of what was out there, running away from Officer Turlington and his search party with their rifles and horrible dogs. How long would he survive? She could not imagine that so many men would not finally succeed in finding one who had to ambush innocent girls for tomatoes.

Well, she would see. Officer Turlington would hardly curtail his triumph once the man, if he was one, was recaptured. And then he would be hanged at the gallows, the dead body swaying in the ocean breeze. Ariane picked up the next linen and spread it across the line, hardly hearing what else Tenny was saying. Looking at the pure white of the cloth, she thought of those faded eyes that seemed to have no colour and wondered for a moment if the man-thing was maybe blind. But for something blind he moved very fast, and she did not think blind eyes could issue commands to be silent. It was a command, there was nothing pleading, nothing soft in that first look, his dirty finger pressed against grimy lips. How dirty he was, the complete opposite to this dream of white. Ariane traced a hand across the white plane, her hand and arm starkly dark against it, every finger clearly seen. He did not curl from her hand as sometimes happened on market days, he did not hesitate to touch, but feral as he was, he probably hardly saw her, just grabbed what held the food he wanted and ate as an animal for he was hungry like one.

Stepping away, Ariane picked up the next linen and continued her work, trying her best to listen to Tenny, but hardly finding patience for what the washing woman was saying, it was all about terrible deeds, murderous pirates, and other horrors Ariane didn’t want to think of. She looked to the sky, saw the silver in the white clouds tumbling to mountains above, and thought of the few hours that were left before the heavens opened and let out all the rain. With the sun so hot, and the air so sticky, the sheets would have dried to an untainted white until then. Everyone would rush inside once the rain poured, everyone except the man-thing running away from Officer Turlington and his awful men and dogs. Hopefully, when the rain finally fell, it would not only sweep away the tracks, but cover the feral creature and wash away all its dirt as well.

November 7, 2014

saving grace, 3

Ariane helped her mother set the table, dress the salad, and make sure the roast chicken and other delectables were as Father Claireborne liked them. Unlike other Englishmen, or so Mrs Bellamy said, Father Claireborne had a taste for good food and knew to give high praise when a meal was done well. Today the Father had a guest however, so Mrs Bellamy was agitated and curt with her commands. Once all the platters and bowls were brought up to Father Claireborne’s private office where the meal was to be taken, Mrs. Bellamy returned in calmer spirits, ready to feed the rest of the house.

John Mallory, the gardener, came in right then. He was tall and dark as night, with eyes so white they almost shone in his face. John took care they had enough potatoes, parsnips, pumpkins and cabbages in the garden, and saw to it that the lemons and oranges grew well. That way Mrs Bellamy could make her famous lemonade whenever she wished, and order ice in time for the wonderful sorbet she always made on Father Claireborne’s birthday.

Grey-haired Bertram Mahoney walked in after John, calling out ‘Hurry up lads, they’re not going to wait.’ Bert who liked to talk of his home in that faraway place, Ireland, where there was ‘real weather’ and rain fell sideways. His blue eyes grew dreamy then, as he sat back and puffed on his pipe, talking about The King’s Arms where it seemed men only went to drink and brawl and misbehave themselves. Mrs Bellamy did not approve of tales of The King’s Arms, which was one reason why Bert enjoyed telling them. He was always teasing Ariane’s mother like that, and Father Claireborne never stopped him, but then Bert and Father Claireborne had known each other for very many years. Once Father Claireborne was appointed at Port Augustine, Bert followed a year later, ‘ready to settle’ as he said. Since he was very good with wood and glass, he made sure the house and church remained in order, never mind if it was ‘an ungodly Protestant place’, Bert still prayed to the Holy Mother Mary.

Standing in the kitchen door, Bert called, ‘Come on, lads, what are you waiting for?’ again, and finally young Mel and Wesley came in, quietly, removing their caps just like John and Bert. They were five and six years younger than Ariane, and did everything Bert told them, learning all they could from the Irishman, and John as well, for ‘a man should know his way around the garden,’ as Father Claireborne said. Mel and Wesley’s past was one of those terrible histories you found so frequently on the islands. Bert had ‘bought them off a man in Antigua’ three years before, he had had to sail down on business. Bert never said more about Mel and Wesley, and the two boys hardly ever talked anyway. They were brothers, and stayed together at all times, sharing a room and a bed in the small house Bert called his own. Ariane had seen it herself when she once brought Bert a book Father Claireborne wanted him to have. She had asked Bert why the boys didn’t have their own beds and Bert shrugged, ‘They didn’t want them. Plain refused.’ Then he added, ‘I wager they don’t want to get separated again.’

From what Bert hinted on if he did talk about Antigua, there had been more brothers and sisters, and a mother, but Ariane still did not know what happened to them. Bert did not offer to tell, and she did not know how to ask. She knew of Antigua, she had heard the stories, she knew which islands were nightmares, which colonies further north were utter hell. She knew in whispers and tales told in secret, she knew in the bulletines Father Claireborne sometimes read and made him gloomy for a whole day. Now at nearly seventeen, the Mississippi had become a place of terror for Ariane, the delta synonymous to Hell, pockets of hell fire littered all across the Spanish Main, Antigua being one of them, so she did not know how to ask Bert about what happened there. It was enough to see how quiet the two boys were, standing together now, Mel with his eyes to the floor, and Wesley alert, watching everything carefully. Both would not say one word through the entire meal, but Ariane had come to accept it. They ate well at least, and Bert made sure they stayed healthy and clean. Ariane knew John and her mother made sure to know where they were at all times, and Father Claireborne took care they learnt their alphabet and their sums. It was, Ariane felt, the best one could do after all that happened to them.

They were free now though, at least they were given that mercy. They were now equal to all other Freemen in Port Augustine. Like Father Claireborne, Bert was a staunch believer that no man should own another, though where Father Claireborne saw such ownership as a deep sin against the Lord on High, Bert was far less religious. As he told Ariane once, ‘No one on this blessed earth owns anything, lass. We just stay for a while and then move on. Anyone trying to tell you anything else and I swear on me own mother’s grave they’re trying to sell you something. Don’t ever trust a word they say.’ Bert never said who ‘they’ were, but from how Bert always talked about them, ‘they’ sounded very powerful and very dangerous. He did give Mel and Wesley a last name though, Callaghan. Apparently it would throw a man Bert knew into all kinds of torment to know that ‘two little Negroes were carrying his perfect name.’ Every time Bert said that, he grinned wide right after and sighed satisfied as if he accomplished something.

John, Bert, Mel and Wesley greeted Ariane and Mrs Bellamy with silent nods before they sat down at the large kitchen table, Bert saying happily, ‘That smells wonderful, Mrs Bellamy, what’ll you surprise us with today.’ Mrs Bellamy told Bert to stop trying to flatter her with such insincerity, and their usual banter began. John sat by in silence and listened with a faint smile, while Ariane poured out water for Mel and Wesley, Mel who was tracing the grain of the heavy oak table. It was a massive thing where everyone reconvened in the evenings, even Father Claireborne, who said it made little sense to sit in solitude up in his office when there was such merriment and joy in the kitchen.

If John was in the proper mood, he would take out his guitar, a beautiful instrument he was gifted by his former Master’s wife when he became a Freeman. She was a duke’s daughter who knew how to play by a Spanish artisan at her father’s court, and so had taught John since he was a child. Once anyone heard John play, they knew why the high lady took such time to teach him. Ariane could spend whole evenings just listening to John play on his guitar. When she closed her eyes, it was as if an angel was playing, yet it was John, John who was as dark as night, John Mallory who was actually Juan de Majorca, ‘John from the large island’ as he once explained, John Mallory whose English still had that Spanish accent, which was why he never spoke when Officer Turlington was near. John who was dark as night and played like an angel sent down from on High to make them remember that there really was Someone watching.

They would sing the songs they knew when John began to play, Ariane showing her skill and Mrs Bellamy sometimes singing the beautiful French ones she remembered, never mind how melancholy they were. Father Claireborne himself knew quite a few, joyous songs of praise, and slow, sombre songs of longing, not to mention Bert who had many more songs than he was allowed to sing by Father Claireborne and Mrs Bellamy. They were apparently not for children’s ears, never mind how Bert started grinning.

It was such things as these that made Father Claireborne very unlike other Fathers Ariane had heard of and knew. Ariane always felt that his house was truly a house of God, for in it all souls present, man, woman and child, were at peace. There was joy, there was laughter, there was song, and they all had good clothes to wear and enough food to eat. It was, Ariane knew, the best of fortune to know such a house as one’s home, and to have it’s master be such a man as Father Claireborne. The Father was a stout man with dark hair still thick and full about his head, he had a hearty laugh and a handsome smile, though he could look like God himself come down to take furious vengeance when he was thunderous, but that did not happen often. Mostly when someone scavenged his herb garden again where he was still trying his hand at strawberries.

Ariane liked Father Claireborne very well, as did everyone in Port Augustine, and it was good that he would still have many years to pray for the parish, for despite the grey at his temples, Father Claireborne was hardly past forty. It was he who had taken Ariane’s mother out of the desperate situation of widowhood when Ariane was but two years, and installed her as his cook when he was appointed to Port Augustine. Some thought his choice immoral if not outright sacrilegious, but since Mrs. Bellamy was a widow and had shown herself to be good Christian woman with an unshakable Christian faith, those who would talk evil soon hushed their mouths. Now no one in the small town questioned that the holy man and his cook lived under the same roof, with John, Bert, Mel and Wesley as their constant helpers.